


Humouring The Patient

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drabble, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sibling Incest, Sick Sherlock, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 18:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20412463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft looks after his little brother, who is ill in bed with a cold.





	Humouring The Patient

“Good morning, Doctor Watson. How's the patient?”

The shorter man grimaced. “He's run out of patience…”

Mycroft smirked. “But it's only the first day.”

“Yeah, you know him…”

“I do.” _Better than you'll ever know…_

“Thanks for dropping by. Mrs Hudson will be back in about an hour and I don't dare leave him alone and I've got to go to work. I mean I know you're working, too, but…”

“Do not worry, John. He's my brother and of course I'm going to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or blows up the house because he's bored.”

“Yeah, he's so bored… And he's driving me nuts…”

_“Jo-ohn! Are you still there? Who are you talking to? Is that Mycroft?”_

Both men winced at the screeching, ended by a coughing fit.

“I better go to him,” Mycroft said.

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Mycroft gave him an encouraging smile and John sighed, picked up his doctor's bag and left 221B Baker Street, and Mycroft took off his coat and then walked towards Sherlock's bedroom.

He entered after knocking and hearing a croaked 'yes!' and smiled at the adorable view in the messy bed. A tousled detective with small eyes and a decidedly red nose, wearing a white t-shirt.

“Oh, look at you. Aren't you my cute little Rudolph?”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed even more. “Rudolph?! Who is Rudolph? Do you have someone else? Are you mixing me up with…” Another coughing attack finished his completely unjustified jealous rant.

Mycroft sat on the bed and rubbed his arm. “No, dear. I was merely comparing you, quite nastily as I will admit, to a certain reindeer.”

“A what?! Do you have fever, too?”

Mycroft immediately put his hand on the grumpy detective's forehead. Thank God, the temperature was obviously elevated but not alarming. “No, dear. How are you?”

“It's ghastly,” Sherlock mumbled darkly. “I'm so bored! Did you bring me a case?”

“No, I'm afraid not. John called me and asked me to look after you until Mrs Hudson comes back.”

“Ah, old Hudders. She'll just tell me awful stories about her sick husband and bring me soup.”

“How dare she!”

Sherlock glowered at him. “Yeah, mock me, Mycroft.”

Mycroft bent forward and kissed a flushed cheek. “Sorry, brother dear. Why didn’t you text me that you're not feeling well?”

“Ah, it's nothing, just a silly cold. Tomorrow I'll be back on the streets, chasing killers.”

“I don't think so. You will need to spend at least another day in bed.”

“Oh, I can! If it's your bed and you're in, too!”

Mycroft smiled. “Cunning little brother. I wish I could. We'll do that on Saturday, all right? Then you will certainly feel better and can enjoy it more.”

“Humph.”

“Don't pout, love. Shall I tell you a story?”

“I'm not five!”

“No, you're really not.” Five-year-old Sherlock had been so adorable when he was ill. He would suckle at a straw, drinking orange juice and listening in awe to the pirate stories chubby teenager Mycroft was improvising. Thirty-five-year-old Sherlock was still adorable but a tad more fastidious.

Sherlock sneezed and Mycroft handed him a tissue from the box on the nightstand. The bin next to the bed was already half full of used ones. “It sucks, Mycroft. Oh!”

“Oh no.”

“Please! You never get ill so you won't get it!”

“It's not because of that.”

“You find me revolting,” Sherlock said in the saddest voice he could muster.

“No! But Mrs Hudson will be back soon.”

Sherlock snorted. “In an hour! You won't need an hour!”

Mycroft sighed. He didn’t mind doing this, of course not. But they had rules. And the most important one was that nobody was allowed to learn about their not quite legal relationship so every sexual act might only happen in the safety of Mycroft's house, where there were no direct neighbours and Sherlock could come and go discreetly. He didn’t feel safe about doing anything here, knowing that Sherlock's landlady, who didn’t exactly have a soft spot for him, Mycroft, could be back anytime.

“Please!” Sherlock begged. “It'll cure me in no time!”

“I doubt that very much. But okay. I'll do it.” Why had he even tried to refuse? In the end he would always give in to his brother. Sherlock could have everything from him.

“Oh, you're the best!”

“I am.” Mycroft smirked, accepting his fate. “But won't you be cold if I remove the blanket?”

Sherlock immediately ripped it from his body. “No!”

Mycroft grinned and shook his head about Sherlock's eagerness in taking off his boxer shorts. His cock had already taken interest and Sherlock let it snap against his muscular abdomen invitingly, the seductive look a bit spoilt by another sneeze.

“Keep your ears open,” Mycroft told him. “As soon as you hear the key, tell me to stop!”

Sherlock nodded fiercely. “I will.”

So Mycroft went to work. He gently stroked up and down the smooth shaft, easing the foreskin back and forth over the red mushroom head. He tapped on the slit with his forefinger, catching sticky fluid that he used to ease his way. His wrist made deft circling movements, massaging Sherlock to full hardness within seconds.

Sherlock was panting now, interrupted by the occasional sneeze or coughing, and his hand found Mycroft's neck when the older man bent over him to take him into his mouth.

He started with suckling at the tip noisily, just the way his brother liked it. Sherlock's pleased moans and curses told him that he, in fact, loved it. Then he took more of him in, bending his neck so he could go down all the way, letting Sherlock's long cock slide into his throat with ease. He swallowed around him and managed to lick the underside, making a stream of curses leaving Sherlock's sinful lips.

Drinking his brother's pre-come, he was not sure at all if he wouldn’t get ill, too. But he knew then Sherlock would be there and take his temperature… It was too late to worry about this anyway and he increased his efforts until Sherlock cried out and pumped hot stickiness down his throat.

He came up again, his ears ringing, and used a tissue for himself now, wiping his mouth.

Sherlock had a decidedly silly grin on his face now and his eyes were dazed. “Oh, that was good, brother. So good…”

Mycroft tousled his hair. “I'm glad to hear that. Sleep for a moment. Sleep is good for you.”

“Don't want… to… sleep…” Sherlock's head fell back into the pillows and Mycroft carefully got up, a smile on his lips. Sherlock's eyes were closed, the long, black lashes contrasting the pale skin.

He would go to the kitchen and make tea for both of them, and perhaps he would find some biscuits for his sweet-tooth brother.

The tea was just ready when he heard the front door opening up. A minute later Sherlock's landlady quietly entered the flat. “Oh, Mr Holmes! He's sleeping?” She sounded rather surprised, which didn’t surprise Mycroft that much. It was hard enough to get Sherlock to sleep during the night, let alone in the middle of the day.

“Yes, he's having a nap.”

She smiled at him. “That's good. He needs some rest, the silly boy. Ah, my husband was the same.”

Mycroft nodded. “A challenging patient?”

“Oh yes. And he also believed that the illness could be sucked out of him. Well, perhaps it works for Sherlock. Let me know when you leave; I'll look after him then.” Mycroft gaped at her and she giggled. “Your lips, Mr Holmes. They are not usually that swollen… See you later.”

Mycroft watched her leaving, feeling as if he had been hit by a bus. Then he sighed. Never underestimate a goldfish. And considering her very calm reaction, she had probably known it for years…

_“Mycroft!”_

He sighed again and took the tray. Back to little brother who would probably demand more attention soon. Well, at least they didn’t have to be quiet…

“Coming!”

He heard his brother giggle. _“Oh, I'll make you come for sure.”_ Then he coughed again.

And Mycroft hurried to bring tea and ginger nuts to the sickbed, humouring his wonderful little brother.


End file.
